The important decision was made through a game of rock, paper, and scissors. The one unlucky enough to be left out was none other than the Vanguard, who couldn't even use his armor properly.
Many people thought that they were going to get some mythical elixirs like the masked men had suggested.
Unfortunately, as more and more people used the vending machines, they realized that it was highly unlikely.
The odds of getting something rare were extremely low. Most of them only received things like bags of chips, winter clothes, ordinary knives, or flashlights.
Once the "heroes" were gone, the remaining survivors scrambled to form cliques based strictly on combat power. The A-Ranks snatched up the B-Ranks.
The B-Ranks reluctantly formed groups with the C-Ranks. It was like watching a high-stakes game of elementary school dodgeball, where the last kids picked were quite literally going to die.
Ian stood by his rock, watching the mad scramble.
He didn't even try to ask anyone to join their group. He knew exactly what he was in their eyes: an F-Rank Gambler with zero combat stats and a shattered arm.
Then again, he felt quite confident. This was claimed to be a game of luck. Didn't that mean he would be like a fish in water?
Within twenty minutes, almost all the passages were occupied, and the survivors quickly vanished into the maze.
The S-Rank group was one of the last to enter.
Leia looked toward Ian, who was standing in the back.
With a sigh, she walked over to the Vanguard and asked him, "Can you form a team with him and keep him safe?"
"He is your friend, and I know you want to save him. Unfortunately, I can't do that. I have already selected a team of A-Rankers. I am already at a disadvantage, I can't accept an F-Ranker."
Leia didn't insist. She sighed as she looked back at Ian again. "I tried my best. It looks like you can only rely on yourself."
She did the bare minimum to feel like a decent person before she turned around and entered the passage with her team.
Soon, the massive hall was entirely empty, except for Ian and four other people left standing near the very edge of the chamber.
They were the leftovers. The absolute bottom of the barrel.
Ian looked at his new, entirely uncoordinated team.
There was the D-Rank swordsman, who was still occasionally frothing slightly at the corners of his mouth.
Although he was a D-Ranker, having been poisoned once left him weak, and he had become part of the rejects.
There was the E-Rank healer, who was actively crying and repeatedly apologizing to the swordsman for poisoning him.
There was an elderly, balding E-Rank man in a suit, who was nervously clicking beads on a wooden abacus he had received as his class weapon.
And finally, there was a middle-aged, overweight D-Rank Chef, who was trembling violently while clutching a cast-iron frying pan to his chest like a shield.
"Well," Ian said dryly, breaking the miserable silence. "I guess it's us."
The old accountant sighed, his fingers moving over his abacus. "I calculate our survival odds at roughly zero point zero zero zero..."
"Please stop doing math, Arthur," the Chef sobbed.
"Come on," Ian sighed, walking toward the absolute last passage at the far corner of the cavern. "Let's just get our items. Maybe someone will pull a magical item. Isn't it too early to give up?"
The group dragged their feet to the vending machine.
The Chef pushed the button and received stale French bread. He almost burst into tears again.
The healer received a box of standard bandages, which she immediately dropped.
The poisoned swordsman slapped the button with a trembling, green hand and got a half-empty bottle of warm water.
The accountant pulled a small, useless brass token.
Finally, it was Ian's turn.
Hoping for maybe a health potion, or even a painkiller for his screaming shoulder, Ian pressed the blinking button with his good left hand.
The machine made a strange noise and soon released something into the dispensing tray.
Ian reached down and pulled it out.
It was a triangle-cut, thinly-wrapped egg salad sandwich.
There was no magical glow. There was no stat-boosting prompt. It didn't even have an expiration date printed on the plastic. It was just an incredibly ordinary egg salad sandwich.
Ian stared at it, his face completely devoid of emotion.
"Perfect," Ian muttered, slipping the sandwich into his waistcoat pocket right next to his deck of playing cards. "At least we won't die of hunger too early."
With absolutely no coordination, zero combat power, and a collective morale that was currently buried somewhere in the earth's depths, Ian led his group of five into the pitch-black tunnel.
From the shadows across the empty chamber, the masked figures watched Ian's group disappear into the gloom.
Once the last of them entered the maze passage, one of the masked guards slowly shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping him.
He removed his porcelain mask, revealing a face that was nothing but a fleshless skull. He was a literal skeleton, though it had been impossible to tell previously because he was covered from head to toe.
"What a pitiful young man," the guard mumbled to his companion. "He had hundreds of options, and he entered the absolute hardest passage."
"Indeed," the second masked figure replied, a tone of genuine pity in his voice. "Clearing the tutorial through Path 999 is impossible. He picked the only path in this entire labyrinth that ends in a complete dead end."
The first guard crossed his arms, staring at the empty passage. "Not only that... did you forget the monstrosity that slumbers in that path?"
"He is as good as dead," the second guard agreed.
The masked figures shook their heads, mentally crossing off the five souls who had just walked into the Grave of Hopelessness, just like many unfortunate souls before them.
Soon, the guides returned to the shadows to await the next batch of guests. It was a cycle they had been repeating for eternity.